


Small Victories

by Artemis1000



Series: Uneasy Allies 'Verse [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, First Order Has Won, KnightPilot Week, M/M, Questionable Relationship Goals, Ten Years Later, Uneasy Allies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-29 20:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12093219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis1000/pseuds/Artemis1000
Summary: A moment of tentative peace in the middle of war may not be much, but Poe considers it a small victory anyway.





	Small Victories

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Knightpilot Week.

“I thought you were dead.”

Poe looks up from his hands, which are buried in BB-8’s electronics. It has taken a lot of damage. They both have, he is still a patchwork of bacta patches and bruises beneath his uniform, and his left eye is mostly swollen shut. BB-8 had been hurt worse, though, and so here he is, having gone from medical right to the droid repair shop.

He doesn’t regret being here, he only regrets that he didn’t lock the door.

“Why? Are you disappointed?” Poe gives Kylo a crooked smile. It falls short even of being properly biting, but he’s tired and hurting, and doesn’t have the strength left for hostilities.

Kylo looks for a moment like he had been slapped. It’s a better look for him than the usual mix of mockery and disdain he treats Poe with.

Poe shakes his head and goes back to soldering tiny wires deep in BB-8’s innards. He heaves a sigh. He should know better than to expect more, yet here he is, disappointed anyway. Business as usual, really.

Kylo is still looming over him like a sour-faced black Sith bat. He must be nursing his own injuries, but he’s always been good at convincing himself that he is unaffected by hurts; right until the pretense blows up in everyone’s faces anyway.

Theirs might have been an urgently needed victory, one where they went to their last stand and came away having bought themselves another couple of months before their certain destruction. Yet nobody had come away unscathed from this victory.

“Hmm?” Poe says finally, once he grows tired of the discomfort. He doesn’t look up. He, too, has his pride.

Kylo grumbles and huffs. “They told me you’re dead,” he says again.

Poe looks up. This time, he really looks at Kylo, looks beyond the scowl and the theatrics of the menacing Master of the Knights of Ren and Sithliest of self-declared Siths.

They are uneasy bedfellows, the sad remains of the Resistance and the Knights of Ren. Sad to say for someone who calls Kylo Ren lover and often enough professes his love to him, Poe isn’t truly more comfortable with him than his comrades are. Feelings are feelings and wishful thinking is wishful thinking, fact remains that he can’t trust Kylo. Trust is everything these days, and Poe has never been comfortable with conditional love.

“It was a close call.” His voice has softened. Now that he hears himself speak Poe almost wishes he hadn’t permitted it, but he really is hurting and he really is tired, and shouldn’t his lover be the one he seeks comfort with?

The only comfort they ever found in another was by pretending that they still had something left of the boys they had once been, that they could go back to that for just an hour or two.

“I know. If we had bacta tanks to spare you would still be in one.”

Poe’s eyes widen slightly, his heart gives a tiny hopeful flutter before he can help himself. “Did you visit medbay hoping to learn I won’t be a problem any longer?” he asks, but there’s no more heat to his voice now, not even a token attempt at their usual enmity. Poe drops the tools. He really is tired. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “that was uncalled for.”

He has to believe it’s true, for if he doesn’t brace himself for the worst he will just open himself up to more hurt. It’s still bad form to accuse your ally of such a thing.

For once Kylo doesn’t even react to the words, he just looks at Poe. He reaches for him and Poe notes that Kylo’s hands are reddened and still glisten with bacta. Kylo has never figured out how to use Force lightning without injuring himself.

Poe remains perfectly still when fingertips skim over his split lip and trace his swollen cheek, the nasty cut above his brow.

“I didn’t want you to fight.”

“Hey,” Poe whispers, and his voice is gentle again. He’s certain it’s all without his permission this time. “I may be General, but I’m still the best pilot in the Resistance. You said so yourself.”

He realizes too late that maybe that reminder of their reunion on Jakku had been ill-advised, but by the time he could backtrack Kylo has already stiffened. Poe can see his eyes have turned guarded again.

Poe licks his lips. His heart is pounding almost as hard as in battle. This is a battle, too, only he doesn’t know the rules of this warfare. “You think I’d let you hog all the glory?”

Kylo’s lips twitch. “You’ve never done it for glory.”

He grins. “And I’m getting too old for reckless stunts in Black One.” Black One the seventh now, they had been going through ships and pilots quickly right around the time the First Order won the war.

“Like that’s going to stop you.”

“Never.”

They stand there, simply watching another for a while, both waiting for the other to make the first move.

Long moments later Poe sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t have the patience for games today. Why are you here?”

“I…” Kylo’s hands clench into his robes. He trails off, scowling.

“You had been told I was dead.” Maybe that is enough. Maybe it is all the answer he needs. They aren’t good at talking anyway, whenever they try they end up tearing open old wounds. They have far too many of these, decades worth of them.

Poe kneels again. He picks up a hydrospanner and offers it to Kylo. “I could use some help with Beebs.”

He makes another disgruntled noise, but after a long moment he takes the tool from Poe and kneels across from him. “Niney has been fretting nonstop.”

It’s no grand romantic moment, but a rare peace settles over the workshop as they tinker on BB-8.

The Resistance has won some precious breathing room with the last battle and now they have a moment of peace, too.

It’s not much, but to Poe it feels like a victory.


End file.
